


Scenes From a Marriage

by CaptainViolet



Category: Versailles (TV 2015)
Genre: Abduction, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Arranged Marriage, Canada, Developing Relationship, Fabien is a CEO, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Getting Together, I sort of wanted this to be a mafia au but it turned into something else, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, Strangers to Lovers, There is no plot please do not expect a plot, and Philippe is bored, and a little violence, cursing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-15
Updated: 2020-01-06
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:55:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 5,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21804076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainViolet/pseuds/CaptainViolet
Summary: More than 6000 km distance to his brother is as good a marriage prospect as any, Philippe finds.Some scenes from before and after said marriage.
Relationships: Fabien Marchal/Philippe d'Orléans | Monsieur
Comments: 11
Kudos: 16





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve worked on this for a while now, and finally managed to finish the thing. It started off as a gangster/mafia AU idea and drifted off into a sort of ... self-discovery story? I am not all too sure what it is or whether I am happy with it or not – but I decided to post it anyway, in the hope that someone might enjoy it.

Louis is currently barfing up his lunch, probably. That’s why Philippe is here, in Montreal, filling in for his brother. The time difference is only four hours, so at least he isn’t too jet lagged for the meeting. Louis had been adamant that it was too important to delay. Philippe hasn’t even looked at the contract that Louis wants him to get signed but he knows what Louis means when he says ‘important’ while also having a certain gleam in his eyes. It means that the man Philippe is supposed to meet has shares of Versailles. Louis wants to buy all the shares of Versailles, no matter the cost. Sees himself as some sort of descendant of Louis XIV. Philippe will never know how someone can be so obsessed with a historic site where people used to piss at the walls. But Louis is Louis, and Louis does not accept constructive criticism.

Philippe takes a sip of his Cabernet. It is a fine one. The hotel is fancy, and people here speak French (not quite proper French, but French still), and most importantly, he is far away from Louis, so his mood is not too bad. Of course, he can still hear his brother’s voice in the back of his head. Telling him to not fuck this up, for once. To be civil. And to come back immediately after he has the signature on that contract.

Philippe remembers that Louis had sent him some research on Marchal, the man he is supposed to encounter in ten minutes. He should probably have a look at that before the meeting. He takes out his phone and scrolls through Louis’ email. The pictures do not hold his interest for long. Philippe vaguely remembers having met Marchal before, probably at one of Louis’ boring dinner parties. The man may be called handsome but is not Philippe’s type. Philippe likes his men a little more boyish. There is nothing boyish about Marchal.

Owner of Bonteau Inc., estimated net worth 350 million Canadian dollars. They make paperclips, apparently. _Can you get any more boring?_ Philippe quickly scrolls over the details of the company; he cares little for such things. _They’ll be involved in some shady crime shit or Louis would not have met with the man before._ _Now give me the juicy stuff._ Marchal is in a rock band, he reads on. _Oh god, he probably thinks he’s so cool._ Marchal’s first wife, Beatrice Clermont, disappeared under mysterious circumstances. Now that sounds more interesting! There is still no evidence to as where she is or if she is dead or alive, but she has been declared dead a while ago. Marchal has never been a suspect in the case. The second wife, Claudine Masson, has been a renowned medical doctor. And she has been poisoned two years ago. The murderer has not been caught yet. _The man seems to be rather unlucky in love_.

Philippe reads how later, Marchal’s stepdaughter Sophie Clermont has also suddenly disappeared. She, however, has later reappeared in the Netherlands, is now dating a woman called Eleanor and seems quite happy. Perhaps she needed to escape her stepfather?

Philippe absentmindedly rubs his nose, closes the email and puts his phone back in his pocket. This information does not put him at ease. He’s not very good at doing business and he’s very bad at being two steps ahead of other people. And that Marchal fellow seems more than just a bit shady.


	2. Chapter 2

“Absolutely not.”

It is the first time he really notices Marchal’s voice. It has a slight rasp and an almost musical lilt to its inflections. Quite agreeable. Philippe is not as disappointed by this answer as he should be. He does not even challenge the other man. “And this is finite?”

“It is.” Marchal’s face is very still. “The girl is a teenager. What would I even do with her?”

Philippe fishes his phone out of his pocket. “Louis wants a prompt update. I shall tell him that you need time to consider the offer.”

“I said no. You can tell him I we are welcome to discuss the trading deals in his contract. They are, in fact, incredibly lucrative for me. That weird clause about a favour that I owe him in the future does not make this contract very trustworthy though. And I am absolutely not marrying his daughter.”

Philippe understands. He himself has been married twice for the sake of good business relations, and has not been too fond of the experience. He has never been in the position to refuse, though. Henriette has never approved of his dalliances and has soon chosen to bed Louis instead. Once her father had learned of her unhappy marriage, Louis had grumpily agreed that her and Philippe should be divorced. Liselotte has been far more accepting of Philippe’s lifestyle and the arranged marriage life, but once she had fallen in love with someone else she had filed for a divorce. They parted on good terms though. Louis’ mood had not been so good though.

“Then I will tell my brother that you’re not interested tomorrow. He told me to return straight after I have your answer. And I don’t want to fly home yet. I only just arrived.” He does not say that he enjoys being far from Louis’ grasp too much to give it up so soon. Or that Louis will likely try again. Those shares of Versailles tempt him too much.

Marchal takes a bite of his steak. “I guess that’s fine. I’m surprised that you won’t try and convince me a little harder.”

Philippe shrugs. “I doubt my niece would enjoy this arrangement, if I am honest.”

“And would you enjoy it if she had to marry me?”

He pauses. “No. I would hate for her to be this far away in a country she doesn’t know. It is never fun to be related to Louis, and it must be awful to be his child.”

“I’m glad we agree on that.”


	3. Chapter 3

Philippe considers having breakfast in his room. Mme Montespan, Louis’s current assistant, has not arranged a flight home for him yet, so he has all the time he wants. He remembers a nice terrace where guests at the hotel can eat, and the weather is fine, so he makes his way downstairs to have breakfast with the plebs. The croissants are acceptable, the coffee is barely drinkable, and the salmon divine. He detests having to go home soon. Louis will be very cross with him. His brother will eventually survive it – unfortunately. But on the positive side, Philippe’s failure might even lead to him getting fewer important tasks in the family business, which would suit him just fine. He hates having responsibilities.

“Your brother is quite a dick, isn’t he.”

Philippe looks up. Marchal again.

“His name is Louis, not Richard.”

The older man sits down without an invitation and pours himself a cup of coffee. “You look very relaxed. Do you know already that he offered me you instead of his daughter?”

Philippe nearly drops his champagne glass. “What a fucking little …!”

“Dick?”, offers Marchal.

Philippe is inclined to agree. He huffs and reaches for another croissant. Why does he have to be the brother of a madman? They sit in silence for a while, and Philippe thinks. “You know, it’s not the worst idea.”

Marchal narrows his eyes at him. “You cannot be serious!”

“We have to specify in the contract that I will live here. I’d really, _really_ like to live this far away from Louis, and this is an excellent excuse. Montreal is a great alternative, I like it here.”

“You’ve literally been here for one night. How much have you even seen?”

“Just a bit. Granted, it’s not Paris, but I’ll make it work.”

“But we don’t even know each other. This is absurd. What about the rest of your family?”

“They can visit.”

Marchal snorts. “So, like, you’d be, what, a trailing spouse, and you’ll stay at home to redecorate my living room?” He lifts an incredulous eyebrow and takes another sip from his cup.

“I don’t care.” Philippe waves his half eaten croissant through the air, covering the table with crumbs. “I can do something in your company, we’ll figure something out.”

“How do I know you’re not going to conduct industrial espionage?”

“Good point. You don’t. Fine, I can organise a book club or something. As I said, we can figure out the details later.”

“This is madness. Just… sleep on this, will you. Tomorrow you’ll change your mind.”

Philippe tilts his head. “Fine. I will sleep on it. But only if you will also sleep on it.”

“No.”

“Think of the very lucrative trade deals.”

“I can’t believe you are even considering this! And even if we ignore this lunacy, the deals may be tempting but the favour is too much of a wild card.”

Philippe tears his croissant into pieces and smirks. “I know what he wants as a favour. If I tell you, will you consider it?”

“No, you will just make something up. I need more than just word of mouth.”

“So if the contract specifies what the favour is, you will consider it?”

Marchal sighs, and then thinks. “Unlikely. Depends on the favour.”

‘Unlikely’ is good enough for Philippe. It’s not a ‘no’. This means another day Louis will let him stay. Another day of freedom in Montreal. “I’ll text Louis.”

Marchal rolls his eyes and mutters something he choses to not understand.

His brother is quick to reply. “Louis says he’ll send new contracts to you by email, and that he awaits your answer by tomorrow morning, Canadian time.”

“He is insane, and so are you.”

“Yes.” Philippe puts his phone back into his pocket. “You can show me Montreal in the meantime. Somewhere with nice views for my Instagram feed.”

“I have work to do.”

“You just said that I hardly know my future home town. I should at least know my fiancé’s favourite places here.”

“We are _not_ engaged!”

Philippe leans across the table, all cheerful now. “Oooh, and we have to go to a concert tonight!”

Marchal rubs his temples with both hands.


	4. Chapter 4

**Much later ...**

Philippe wakes because he hears a noise he can’t quite place. He is feeling entirely bleary. Automatically, his hand reaches for his phone on the nightstand. No alarm, no new messages, so it can’t be the phone that woke him. After all these months, there is still a twinge of relief when he sees that there are no texts from Louis. He’d prefer if Louis stopped texting him altogether, because all of his brother’s texts are either orders or questions he wants answered right away.

Philippe turns. He can’t remember if he told his most recent nightly companion to leave early, but it seems he’s gone anyway. Good. He pads towards his bathroom, then puts on boxers and a white shirt and leaves the bedroom in search of coffee. His feet make no sound as he walks down the stairs. He instinctively stops in his tracks when he sees someone stand in front of the kitchen door. It’s Fabien, fully dressed and carrying his briefcase, staring at something Philippe can’t see.

“There’s an on switch on the back”, Fabien says to someone in the kitchen, then enters it.

It seems he hasn’t seen Philippe, who tiptoes closer to the kitchen.

A voice replies to Fabien’s comment. “Oh, uh, thanks.”

 _Shit!_ Philippe recognises the voice, it’s that of his latest conquest. He’s forgotten his name.

There’s a jingle – _Fabien is picking up his keys_ –, and then the guest who should have left long ago asks, “Who are you?”

“Er. The husband.” Fabien doesn’t sound angry at all. He sounds amused.

Philippe has to suppress a smile at that. He walks to the kitchen door and leans against the doorframe. “Good morning.”

The guest, who was apparently trying to figure out how the coffee machine works before he was startled by Fabien, stares at both of them, almost in panic, and gives off a sound of awkward surprise. Which amuses Philippe to no end.

Fabien looks up as he tucks the keys into the pocket of his jacket, and smiles. “Morning.”

Philippe is relieved that his husband isn’t angry at finding a surprise guest at their place and even seems to find this situation as hilarious as he does. They have hardly discussed how to deal with Philippe’s nightly visitors but he’s always assumed that he should be discreet about it. They are trying to convince everyone that they are a couple, after all.

“Right, I’ll be off”, Fabien declares and moves towards the kitchen door to leave.

But Philippe quickly grabs him by the tie and feathers a kiss on his lips. “Don’t be late.” Fabien’s face is washed blank with confusion, and Philippe kisses him again, he lingers a bit this time, just for good measure. And because it feels nice.

Fabien blinks at Philippe, once, twice, before replying, “I won’t”. Then he is gone and Philippe can hear the front door being opened.

The man whose name he forgot still stares. Philippe tries very hard not to laugh.


	5. Chapter 5

Philippe sits in a café and stares into his chai latte. He has just finished Christmas shopping – very early this year. It’s a relatively short list: Fabien, Louis, Anne. Nothing for de Lorraine this year as they’ve broken up this summer. Philippe pretends that the Instagram pictures of his ex with a certain Delphine don’t bother him.

He wonders what to do for the rest of the year. There’s no denying that he’s bored. He has the occasional party in his agenda, and some business dinners of Fabien’s he’s got to attend, but other than that he’s completely free.

 _I should probably apply for a job_ , he muses, not for the first time. His options are limited though. He only has a job experience in the French army, and he has no intent of going back into combat. A desk job with the army might just bore him to death.

His coffee has gone cold. He picks a few coins from his wallet, leaves them on the table and leaves with his shopping bags. He ventures away from the Rue Ste.-Catherine into a small lane he’s never stepped into. Why not get a little lost? It’s not like he has any other plans. His disinterested eyes glide over small boutiques and quaint little stores filled with things nobody really needs. There are Christmas decorations everywhere, even though it is just past Halloween.

A tiny bookshop piques his interest because it has a variety of trashy gay novels in the display window. They look so bad they might be good. _I could spend my winter reading_. _It won’t be any less lonely but certainly entertaining_. Then he spots the sign in the window: “Help needed”, and his heartbeat accelerates.


	6. Chapter 6

Philippe hesitates at the top of the stairs. He is going to accompany his husband to a business dinner tonight. Fabien has told him to wear something ‘sophisticated’. And he does. It’s just probably not what Fabien had in mind: A nice burgundy two-piece suit, the skirt ends just over his knees. Philippe bites his lip. He’s never before worn women’s clothes in Canada. Today may not be the best day for a debut. It sounds like the meeting may be important. Is there still time to get changed?

“Are you ready?”, Fabien’s voice calls from below.

There is not. He takes a deep breath to steel himself and begins to walk downstairs.

Fabien lifts a single eyebrow but shows no other sign of surprise as Philippe comes down the stairs. “Do I have a wife tonight?”

 _He doesn’t sound angry. That’s good, isn’t it?_ “Yes”, Philippe says as he takes the last step. His throat feels dry.

“And what is my wife’s name? Philippa? Philine? Philippette?”

 _Is he making fun of me?_ Indignantly, he smacks Fabien’s upper arm with his handbag. “That’s Madame Marchal to you!”

“Even though I am Monsieur Marchal?”

“Yes!”

“Fine. May I lead Madame Marchal to the car?” He offers an arm.

Philippe pauses. “You may.”


	7. Chapter 7

A hand over his mouth. The smell of chloroform. A moment of panic. _No, focus!_ How many attackers are there? Are they armed? Does he recognise them? Where can he go when he breaks free? His thoughts begin to swim. Panic rises again. Then, nothing.

* * *

Philippe wakes with a jolt and hits his head on something hard. He groans. Where is he? He’s in the dark, he’s very thirsty, his head spins. Then he remembers. _Shit! I’ve been kidnapped!_ He can feel his heart pound in his throat. His first instinct is to scream, but then his training kicks in.

_Calm down._ The sooner he regains his composure the better off he will be in the long run. He takes deep breaths and forces his panic to subside.

_Observe_. It’s dark but that doesn’t mean there is no information to be gathered. There is a sharp pain where he hit his head before, but otherwise he feels unharmed. He can feel that his hands and feet are both tied. The ropes leave little room for movement. He can’t feel anything covering his face, so this means that it’s dark because the lights are out. He may start to see something if he waits a little. He is resting against a something cold, it’s possibly concrete. The floor is also cold. Could he be in a cellar? He can hear nothing. Is he alone?

_Find a reason for the abduction_. He’s got no specific clue there. Probably some stupid gang war either Fabien or, less likely, Louis are involved with. He’s seen too little of his assailants to know more about them. It’s hard to tell if they are pros or not. Leaving him in the dark like this may be a clever move. Binding his hands in front of him instead of behind his back is not. It will not be too hard to move around.

_Keep track of time._ By now, his eyes have adjusted a little to the dark. He can see a sliver of light coming from what he assumes is a doorframe. _How the_ fuck _am I supposed to keep track of time when I don’t even know if it’s day or night?_ Dread creeps up his throat as he realises that all his military training won’t give him any advantage. _Keep calm_. _Fear will only make this so much worse. Once the captors show themselves, things might look different._

Now he can make out the scale of the room. There is no window in the concrete walls. There seems to be nothing in the room, not even a carpet on the floor. He is definitely alone. An empty power socket sits opposite him.

There is a recognisable dark shape in front of the socket. A phone, he realises. His own? Philippe sits up, kneels clumsily, and hobbles towards it. Once he’s reached the wall with the socket he realises that yes, it is probably his phone. It is also a broken phone. There is a hole, perhaps from a bullet, in the middle of the phone, and tiny cracks cover the screen like cobwebs. With some effort, he picks it up with his tied hands and pushes the power button, hoping against all hope that the screen will light up. Nothing. _Why not just throw it away after destroying it? Why would they leave it here? To taunt me?_ He lets the useless phone clatter to the floor.

He wonders if Fabien has noticed his disappearance. Louis would have, because Louis never let him go anywhere without someone shadowing him, but Louis is miles and miles away and has little influence here. And Fabien is obviously not the type to have Philippe followed by his gang members, or Philippe would have been freed already. How long has he been here? He gives a short, humourless laugh. This has got to be the first time he wishes his husband was creepier.

He awkwardly turns around to return to his previous spot, but loses his balance and falls face forward. He brings up his tied hands to break his fall and lands with a groan, his silver pendant tinkling quietly as it hits the concrete. Philippe’s elbows and underarms ache. _Fuck!_ There is nothing else to do; he can only wait. He clumsily manoeuvres himself so that he sits against the wall. The necklace is now cold against his skin.

_Wait. They left me my necklace? Fucking amateurs!_ His spirits rise, he lifts his hands to the cross pendant. Why hasn’t he thought of it before? The pendant is Fabien’s last Christmas present. It’s a simple silver cross, approximately three centimetres in height. Philippe, not a very religious person, had been disappointed by the present. Until Fabien had showed him that the cross was also a tiny flipping knife. _He does not have me followed – but he gives me the means to look after myself._

Philippe casts his gaze over the room again, this time in search of hidden cameras. Best not let his captors know he has a weapon. The only place where someone could hide a camera is the power socket, so he just sits right in front of it. With his hands bound, it takes him several attempts to flip open the knife, and even more attempts to cut through the ropes that bind him. His feet are freed much faster. _That’s better_.

He stands and begins to examine the door. He doesn’t dare move the door knob in case there is a guard on the other side. Just as he thinks of pressing his ear against the door, he can hear the footfalls of several people coming towards him. _Three, I think_. He quickly moves to stand next to the door so that whoever enters will not see him immediately. His only advantage right now is the element of surprise and he has no intention of giving that away. Someone speaks in a low voice but he cannot understand a word.

Then the door opens. Philippe waits until three men file into the room, and then he flies at them. He pushes his small knife into the neck of the man closest to him and leaves it there. It’s too small to be of much use, it will hurt but not kill. His body automatically knows how and where to hit and punch to make quick work of the first man. By then, the others have drawn a gun each. Philippe has to trust that they are unlikely to shoot him – why go through the trouble of kidnapping someone if you wanted them dead? – and simply grabs one of the guns. The previous owner of the gun is too surprised to react, and Philippe shoots him in the stomach with a steady hand. The man spouts blood from his mouth and begins to fall. Something hits Philippe on the back of his head. The pain explodes – but only for a few seconds, then it quickly becomes a distant ache. The third man has obviously stepped behind him, out of reach of the gun, and now tries to choke him. He smashes his elbow into the last man’s face, there is a satisfying crunch. The man sinks to his knees but doesn’t go down completely. He still looks ready for a fight. Philippe evades a fist and hits him. Hard. He pulls the man to his feet, and hears the slight rasp of material ripping. He can only use one hand but his blows land with audible thuds, and finally the man slumps to the floor with a gurgle.

He looks around the room, surveying the three men on the floor. He pads over their trouser and shirt pockets, looking for a key. The door to this room may be open now, but there may be more to unlock. He can see his bloodied little knife stick out from the neck of one of the men and pulls it out.

As he kneels to pick up one of the guns and check it for ammunition, he can hear steps behind the door. _At least two people. Reinforcements_. With a glance, he locates the other gun on the floor. But before he can even think of picking it up, the door opens again. With one swift move, Philippe brings up his gun and points it at the people walking in.

Fabien surveys the carnage on the floor. He is clearly taken aback, and not at all intimidated by the weapon pointing at him. Then he steps over a body towards Philippe. “Are you okay?”

Philippe nods, and finally lowers his gun. “I am now. Thank you.”

“Is that your blood?”

Philippe looks down on himself, surprised. There is blood indeed, but he can’t tell if it is his. Some parts of him are hurting. He runs his hands over his torso. “No. Maybe. I don’t think so.”

“Let’s get you home.”

He follows Fabien out of his former prison, up the stairs, and out into the street. He has no idea where he is, but it must be somewhere in the outskirts of a city. A few street lamps and the headlights of Fabien’s car illuminate the night. He takes deep breaths of fresh, cool air. Freedom has never felt so good.

His husband goes back to talk to some of the people who came with him. Philippe leans against the car as he waits. When he feels remotely calm, he climbs onto the backseat of the car.

After a while, Fabien returns and climbs in with him. A woman Philippe has never seen before gets into the driver’s seat.

If the blood on the seat of his car bothers Fabien, he doesn’t show it. “Do you want someone to come over? I can make a few calls.”

He needs a moment to register Fabien’s question. Now that everything is over, he is just exhausted. Who would he even want here? Maybe Anne, maybe de Lorraine, maybe even Liselotte, but they are all many, many hours away, and he wonders if they’d even come if he asked. He feels very alone. “No. Well, I suppose my brother should be informed, but I can’t deal with him now.”

“I already let him know that you’re fine, but in no state to talk. He will likely bother you tomorrow though.”

Philippe only nods. How on earth did Fabien manage to let Louis leave him alone until the morning? If he weren’t so worn-out be’d be impressed. All he is capable of now is falling asleep. Well, and have a shower first; the blood starts to dry on his skin and makes him feel dirty. His suit is probably beyond recovery by now.

“A doctor will have a look at you when we’re home.”

He’d prefer not having to deal with this right now but he also knows it’s probably for his best, so he doesn’t react.

“Do you need anything else? Food?”

He closes his eyes and leans his head against the cool window. “Yes, actually, that’d be nice.” Then, after a pause, he asks, “How did you find me?”

“Your phone has a tracker.”

“They destroyed my phone.”

“The phone doesn’t have to be active or functioning for the tracker to work.”

They spend the rest of the ride in silence.


	8. Chapter 8

“I called the book shop and said you wouldn’t be in today. Want some breakfast?”

Philippe has no appetite yet. “No, I’m fine.”

“Coffee, at least?”

“Hot chocolate would be nice, actually.”

“That I can do.” Fabien finds milk, cocoa powder and a pan, and starts to rummage around for something else.

“Did you take the day off, too?”

“Yes. God knows I have enough overtime. I didn’t want to leave you alone after, well … yesterday. We can talk, if you like, or I can take your mind off things. Or just do stuff in my office, if you need to be alone.”

“I don’t know what I need yet.” Philippe absentmindedly runs his thumb over the silver cross. “But some company would be nice. Thank you.”

“Do you want some more time off? I can call the store again.”

“I don’t know. One day should be fine.”

He watches as Fabien pours milk into a pan and stirs in the dark cocoa powder. He really is glad that he’s not alone today, and that his husband takes care of him. _Does he do it because he feels bad about what happened?,_ Philippe wonders.

“I never even saw my attackers. Do you know who they were?”

Fabien doesn’t look up from the pan. “Someone who doesn’t like me.”

“The same people who killed off of your wives?”

For the first time in a long while, Fabien’s calm disappears, and Philippe can see how his fingers curl tightly around the whisk, knuckles white. He seems to make every effort to stay silent, to keep the anger inside.

He hasn’t meant for his words to sound quite so sharp. “I’m sorry. That was out of place.”

Fabien takes a very deep breath and begins to stir the milk again. “I guess you have a right to say that. My past relationships have ended … well, terribly. Béatrice turned out to have worked against me from the start. I vowed to never trust someone again just for saying they love me. I thought it could work with Claudine. She was not involved with any of this.” He waves the whisk through the air, probably to indicate that by ‘this’ he means all the criminal business he is involved in. “And yet she had to suffer. Her death was entirely on me. It was one of the many reasons why I opposed to our marriage. I feared it would end as fatally as the rest of them.”

“Apart from it being an entirely bonkers idea.” Philippe bites his lower lip. He doesn’t smile. It’s not a joke anymore. He has insisted on their marriage to escape Louis. It had seemed like a great plan back then. And while he may be away from his brother now, the danger of being part of a criminal family is still very real.

Fabien seems at peace again. “Philippe, I’m really, really sorry that you got abducted because someone wanted to get to me. I was sick with worry, not knowing what had happened.” The milk starts to steam and Fabien pours it into a mug. “And I am sorry for snapping at you before. This should have been a relaxing morning.”

Philippe pauses. “It’s okay. I wasn’t exactly being nice either. And, you know, I am really, really glad that you look out for me like you do.” He means the knife, and the hot chocolate, and he means the moment when Fabien came barging into the cellar.


	9. Chapter 9

“This your New Year’s Eve outfit?”

Philippe spins around.

Fabien leans against the doorway, wearing a suit, his arms folded. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

“It’s fine.” He bites the inside of his cheek and smooths a non-existent crease in his pale blue sequined dress. “I did plan to wear it, but now I am not so sure.”

“Having a hard time to decide which dress looks best?”

He sighs. “That’s not it.”

Fabien seems to sense that something is bothering him. He unfolds his arms and steps into the room. “What is the problem?” He closes the door behind himself.

“De Lorraine will be at the party.” He bites his lip.

“And you’re worried to outshine him with all these sparkles?”

Philippe can’t help but smile at that, but he soon gets serious again. “He always liked me in a dress.” He has to pause to find the words. “I think it made him feel like he was the manlier one in the relationship. Like he needed me to be lesser than him. And I don’t want to give him that feeling today.”

“In my opinion it will be very powerful if you wear it anyway. It will show him that his judgement of you doesn’t bother you anymore.”

He nods. “I thought of this too. But I am not sure I have the confidence to do this tonight.” His hesitant eyes find Fabien’s.

“Well, I say you should keep it on. But it’s not my decision to make. You should wear whatever you feel best in. You look great in a suit. You also look great in this dress.”

The smile returns and this time it doesn’t disappear immediately. He runs his hand over the side of the outfit again. “I _do_ feel great in this.”

“And I’ll send away your ex if necessary.”

Philippe looks up with warmth in his eyes. “With you as my accessory, I can face him.”

Fabien chuckles and holds out his arm. “Although I must warn you, my presence may also keep away the masses of young men who are questioning their sexuality at the sight of you.”

He holds on to Fabien’s arm and slips into his high heels. He is already a little taller than his husband, but in these shoes he towers over him. He winks. “Speaking from experience?”

“I don’t need you to wear a dress to question my sexuality.”

The corner of his mouth twitches. “Thank you”, he says in barely more than a whisper.

“For what?”

“For being you.” He leans in to kiss Fabien. When their lips meet it’s almost chaste at first, the angle is a little awkward and his breath is caught in his chest. But when Fabien’s part readily, he can’t resist to use his tongue. He lets go of Fabien’s arm and slides both his arms around his husband’s waist. Fabien’s low moan only encourages him.

The sound of the door opening brings them apart. It’s Anne, his niece, looking somewhat horrified. “Oh my god, _get_ a room!”

Philippe notices that his cheeks are warm, very warm indeed.

“We _are_ in a room”, Fabien says dryly.

Anne puffs her cheeks but apparently decides to drop the matter. “Dad says you should come and help him greet the guests, they’re arriving.”

Philippe interlaces his fingers with Fabien’s. “Fine, we’re coming.”

“Nice dress, by the way.”

“Thank you.”


End file.
